


The Sky Has Finally Opened

by belleevangeline



Category: Trolls (2016), Trolls: The Beat Goes On (Cartoon)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Past Character Death, Scrapbooks, after watching the netflix series i determined that they're already dating, broppy is there but kinda in the background, it's not a hyperfixation until i stay up past 4am to finish a fic, just somehow both oblivious to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:06:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23357461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belleevangeline/pseuds/belleevangeline
Summary: Poppy is a terrible queen. At least two people disagree.
Relationships: Branch & Poppy (Trolls), Branch/Poppy (Trolls), Poppy (Trolls) & Other(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41
Collections: Best Broppy, Top Shelf Broppy





	The Sky Has Finally Opened

**Author's Note:**

> So I tweaked this one a bit to change Pippa's color scheme since apparently I gave her the exact same skin and hair color as Branch's grandma and didn't realize it.
> 
> 4/16: Tweaked it again because I thought of a really cute visual to go with the one stanza of the song I hadn't included.
> 
> Also, I don't normally make an individual playlist for each WIP, but here's the one I used to write this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/46fbs3pho5sLBb1168G6qk?si=wVhuTgHQTo6O7eTzUnosTw

Poppy poked her head through the window of her father’s pod to make sure it was empty, which she knew was completely irrational. Literally everyone in the village was at the party celebrating her first week as queen, and even as she was leaving she’d seen him break a table trying to dance on top of it, then stand right back up and cheer.

Having needlessly confirmed that no one was inside, she climbed in and clicked on her flashlight to start searching through his archives. She wasn’t totally sure what she was looking for, but she definitely hadn’t found it when the overhead light turned on. She jumped and turned around to see Branch standing in front of the open doorflap, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Looking for something?” he said.

Poppy turned off her flashlight. “Wha- did you follow me here?!”

“Yeah. It’s kinda concerning how easy it was,” he said, closing the flap and mostly sealing off the music and colored lights from across the forest. He crossed the room to the bins she’d started to search and leaned against one on his elbow. “What are you doing here?”

She crossed her arms. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“You left a party early,” Branch said matter-of-factly. “I had to assume circumstances were dire.”

“...Fair enough.”

“So what’s going on?”

Poppy groaned. “I’m a disaster as queen.”

“What are you talking about? You’re doing great; it’s all anyone talked about tonight!”

“Trolls aren’t historically the most critical people, Branch. A good half of them are even more relentlessly positive than I am!”

“I know,” he said flatly. “It scares me sometimes. But I’m not in that half, and I think your first week was pretty successful.”

“You didn’t see me spend two days running tests to make sure Cooper wasn’t growing a fifth leg!”

“Wasn’t that just his hair getting in his face?”

“We know that now,” she said. “But I couldn’t chance being wrong!”

“How did you even test - nevermind. A troll had a problem; you dealt with it. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not if it makes me late for my first ribbon cutting as queen!”

“So it’s a time management issue?”

“It’s a ‘Poppy goes overboard trying to fix the wrong thing and clearly can’t cut it as a ruler’ thing.” She gestured to the storage bins. “My dad did this job for thirty years. There has to be something here, some record of a crisis he solved, that can help me figure out how to deal with this stuff.” She went back to flipping through the archives.

“Why don’t you just ask him for advice?”

“Because I told him to let me handle the first month on my own.”

“And clearly you’re at peace with that decision,” he said, smirking at her and hoping she would understand that it was good-natured.

Poppy rolled her eyes.

Branch sighed. “Look, you’ve been at it one week. No one expects you to be perfect.”

“This isn’t like the first day of school, Branch. I’ve been preparing to be queen my entire life; I’m supposed to already know how to do this!”

Branch looked over her shoulder as she skimmed over old photos and letters. She was clearly determined. Of course she was. She was also lost, and he couldn’t fathom how she’d gotten to this point, how she’d convinced herself she was failing.

“Would the entire village getting ritualistically eaten for decades count as a crisis? Because you both handled that one pretty well.”

“I mean smaller stuff; dealing with problems in the village.”

“What would a record of that even look like?”

“I’ll know when I find it.”

Branch watched her search for a bit as he pondered what she’d told him.

“What about Queen Pippa?”

Poppy froze. “My mom?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe it would help, seeing how she handled things, too?”

“Maybe,” she said, frowning. “But she didn’t - I mean, she wasn’t on the throne as long as my dad was. I don’t even really remember her as a queen.” As she went back to the task at hand, she said, “I barely remember her at all.”

His face fell, and they were both silent for another moment. While Poppy flipped through folders and pieces of paper, an old photo fell out onto the floor. Branch picked it up to look, and a nearly imperceptible smile formed on his face.

“I don’t think anything in here is gonna help,” he said, as if teasing a secret.

Poppy stared at him in utter confusion.

* * *

Branch took a stack of scrapbooks out of the bookcase in Poppy’s pod and set them down on the floor, the two of them sitting on either side of the pile.

Poppy picked one up and furrowed her brow. “How is this supposed to help?”

He held up a book with a blue cover and said, “If there’s any historical record that’ll tell you how to be a good queen, it’s one of these.”

“Branch, I see what you’re doing, and it’s sweet, but I -”

He pointed a scolding finger at her. “Less talking, more searching.”

“Branch, I made all of these. I know what’s in them.”

“That’s impossible. There’s so many, you can’t possibly remember making all of them.” Still looking through the book, he took the photo out of his vest pocket and handed it to her.

Her eyes widened as she took it from him. It showed her as a toddler, making a scrapbook with yellow binding. It didn’t show what was inside, but her tiny pink self was surrounded by an impressive array of paper and felt trimmings. She figured that was what gave Branch this idea, but it wasn’t what fazed her.

Branch looked up from the open scrapbook. “What’s the matter?”

She held the photo out to face him and pointed at a mostly obscured figure at the edge. He could only make out a pink arm and purple hair, but it was enough.

“Is that your mom?”

Poppy nodded, but Branch kept looking at her as if waiting for her to explain something.

“Why’s that surprising? Don’t you have pictures of her around here?”

She sunk a little and set the photo aside. “Not really,” she said.

Branch stammered, “That - that came out wrong, I’m sorry -”

She held out her palms to reassure him. “It’s fine,” she said, lowering her arms. “Really. I just felt like that stuff should stay at my dad’s place. It was always more his loss than mine.”

She didn’t need to clarify that Peppy had never actually said that. He never would. She’d come to that conclusion on her own and was trying to play it off like it was obvious, and it was so astoundingly wrong that Branch felt he had to correct it somehow. He picked up the photo again and pointed to the scrapbook she was making in it.

“Do you know what you put in this one?”

Poppy shook her head. “No, why?”

Branch went back to the bookcase and took out all of the scrapbooks with yellow covers, stacking them on the floor next to him, until he found a thinner one tucked away at the end of the bottom shelf. The illustrations inside were crude, and the glue wasn’t really holding anymore, but it was still somewhat comprehensible.

He brought it to Poppy, whose face went from curiosity to some mix between heartbreak and elation. She laid it on the floor, open to a page that showed a pink figure with what looked like a giant purple cone on its head, sitting on the highest branch of a tree and holding a little pink blob. Above them was a strip of black paper with white crayon dots scattered all over it.

“I don’t remember making this scrapbook,” she said, genuinely smiling despite the tears starting to well up. She pointed to the bigger pink figure on the page. “But I remember this.”

* * *

Pippa sat on the highest branch she could reach on the Troll Tree, thinking. Not about any one thing in particular, simply wondering about anything that came to mind. She wondered how to show her daughter the sun and clouds through the leaves while it was still warm out. She wondered what her friends were singing to lull their own children to sleep (she still had some time before she had to put Poppy to bed). She wondered what she could give her husband for their anniversary in a few weeks. She wondered how her escape plan would be received tomorrow. She wondered what the sudden weight and warmth was that was now sitting next to her, until she looked and saw Poppy staring up at her and grinning.

Pippa smiled down at her fondly, and Poppy giggled.

“What are you doing up here?” Pippa asked.

“Daddy said you were here,” said Poppy. “So I wanna be here.”

“Alright, but only for a little bit. Then it’s bedtime.”

Poppy didn’t reply, just scooted into her mother’s lap and nuzzled against her chin. Pippa wrapped her arms around her and started humming.

“Mommy?”

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“What are _you_ thinking about?”

Poppy drew out her words, trying to find a good answer. “I’m thinking about...dancing puppies.”

Pippa nodded. “That’s a good one.”

“So what are you thinking about?”

“The stars.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re pretty. And I like seeing out.”

“What’s ‘seeing out’?”

Pippa pointed through the bars of the cage. “Seeing out there.”

“Why don’t we go out there?”

“We can’t; not yet.”

“‘Cause of the Bergens?”

“Yes, sweetie.” She was calm, comforting. She had a talent for it, especially when it came to Poppy.

“Is a Bergen gonna eat me?”

“Not if your father and I can help it.”

“How do you help it?”

“However we can.”

“Maybe they can be happy without us! We can show them how.” She believed it so thoroughly that Pippa wouldn’t dare deny her.

“I hope you’re right,” she said. “I’m sure if we can do that, we can do absolutely anything. But we can’t take that chance right now. We have to focus on keeping everyone safe.”

“How do you do that?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

“Mommy?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you smart?”

Pippa chuckled. “You’re smart, too.”

“Not as smart as you.”

“You’re a very smart little girl. I’m a smart grown-up. It’s different. You’ll get smarter, too.”

“When I’m queen?”

“Before that. You’re already getting smarter right now, you just don’t know it’s happening.”

“I wanna be like you when I’m queen.”

“You’ll be a great queen, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that for now.”

Poppy went quiet, her eyes getting heavy. Pippa held her a little closer and started to hum. Poppy recognized the song after a few bars, and sang:

_Stars shining bright above you_  
_Night breezes seem to whisper, “I love you”_  
_Birds singing in the sycamore tree_  
_Dream a little dream of me_

Pippa sang the higher part of the last line, and Poppy stopped. She looked up at her mother curiously for a brief moment before repeating her notes.

“No, no,” said Pippa. “You had it right.”

“But I wanna sing like you!”

Pippa smiled softly. “Poppy. If everyone sang the same note at the same time, it wouldn’t sound as pretty. You just sing like you.” She tickled Poppy’s belly and smiled a little wider at her daughter’s roaring laughter, then lifted her up against her shoulder and stood up to go down to their pod.

Poppy started to sing again on the way down.

_Say, “nighty-night” and kiss me_

Pippa kissed her on the cheek and sang the rest of the verse:

_Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me_  
_While I’m alone and blue as can be_

She held Poppy to face her and gave an exaggerated pout.

_Dream a little dream of me._

Poppy sang the high part this time, but she didn’t protest her mother’s harmony.

When they got to the pod, Pippa tiptoed to her and Peppy’s bed, where he was already snoring, and sang more quietly as she crouched down to his level.

_Stars fading, but I linger on, dear_

_Still craving your kiss_

She held Poppy out a bit farther, and Poppy kissed her father on the forehead. Pippa did the same, and he grunted a bit and shifted, but didn't wake up. They continued on.

_I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear_

_Just saying this..._

She set Poppy gently down on her own bed, pulling the covers up and stroking her hair.

“Goodnight, little love,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, Mommy,” Poppy said a bit too loud, but Peppy kept sleeping.

Poppy didn’t close her eyes right away. She kept beaming at her mother until she finished their lullaby.

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_  
_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_  
_But in your dreams -_

She poked Poppy’s forehead and shook her head slightly.

_\- Whatever they be_

Poppy closed her eyes as her mother slowly stood up to go to sleep herself, but she still heard the last line sung before she fell asleep.

_Dream a little dream of me._

* * *

Poppy lowered the scrapbook from her face, still smiling even as a tear fell onto the floor.

“I’m sorry,” said Branch.

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and snorted quietly. “Don’t be. You were right.” She handed the book to Branch, and he held it open to the same page while she went to her desk and took a gluestick out of the drawer.

When she came back, she knelt down next to him and let him hold the book steady while she carefully lifted up the pieces of paper and felt that were coming unstuck - Pippa’s hair, the tiny Poppy blob in her arms, the black paper sky - and put another layer of paste on the back of each one. She pressed them down firmly against the page and started to close the book, but Branch put a hand out to stop her. He took the gluestick from her, picked up the photo from the floor, and glued it to the inside cover.

“Your dad won’t mind,” he said with a smirk as he closed the scrapbook and handed it back to Poppy.

She smiled warmly at him and stood up to put it back in the bookcase.

Branch stood as well and asked, “So, know how you’re gonna manage from here on out?”

“Not really,” she said, looking over her shoulder as she separated two newer books to make room for the old one. “But I think I’m on the right track.”

They heard trolls outside starting to shuffle back to their pods, their conversations coming through as indistinct murmurs, and realized the lights and music had died down some time ago.

“It must be getting late,” said Branch. “Guess I’ll head out, if everything’s okay here -”

He was interrupted by Poppy rushing forward to throw an around him, still holding the book tight in the other.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, just against his ear.

He blushed and returned the half-hug before Poppy pulled away and stepped backward toward the bookcase again.

“Goodnight, Poppy,” he said once he was at the doorflap.

“Goodnight.”

Once he was gone, Poppy looked down at the scrapbook again and decided not to put it away quite yet. The pages beyond the one they’d been looking at made for some awfully good bedtime stories, and she let them lull her to sleep.


End file.
